Coming Around Again
by Vader's Minion
Summary: HHr. AU. 7th year Hogwarts fic. Harry wakes up after the explosion in Potions and finds himself somewhere he never expected.
1. Part I

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter, that's JKR's biz.

**A/N:** This is AU. It takes place in 7th year. Most of the events of HBP happened but the trio are back at Hogwarts for their 7th year. There isn't much story in the way of plot or adventure, just a little fic on Harry and Hermione's relationship.

**A/N II:** Some people reading this may think it seems familiar and that's probably because it is. I first posted this fic back in 2006 – originally titled **Wide Open** – but took it down a few months ago because I was really struggling on where to take the story and didn't think I was ever going to finish it. But after putting my nose to the grindstone I am finally done with this beastly (for me anyway) thing once and for all. Here's hoping it turns out half-way decent. If you read I hope you enjoy!

**Coming Around Again – Part I**

The portrait to the Gryffindor common room swung open and Harry threw himself gratefully across the threshold. Bleary-eyed, he nearly trampled a pair of awe-struck first years as he stumbled across the room to where Ron and Hermione sat next to the blazing fire. School books carpeted the floor around his two best friends and Hermione's head was bent so closely to her parchment that Harry wondered how she could see.

Ron looked up just as Harry rounded the arm of the sofa, his face the picture of misery.

"Hi, Harry. Finished studying for the night?" Ron dropped his frustration-frayed quill and stared at Harry with a pathetically hopeful expression.

Harry grunted in answer before dropping his bag to the floor and throwing himself forward across the sofa, his head accidentally knocking into Hermione's thigh. Hermione, who had been too engrossed in her homework to notice Harry's approach, jumped in surprise, sending her Transfiguration notes sliding from her lap to cover Harry's head.

"Harry!" she squeaked. "Are you all right?"

Harry grunted.

"Harry?" Hermione asked again, lifting her notes from his head to peer down at him.

From his stomach, Harry raised his head and looked up at his bushy-haired best friend. She wore a startled expression and one of her hands was hovering above Harry's hair, as though to touch it. Her wide eyes roamed his person, no doubt checking for torn clothes, blood, or any other signs of unusual wear and tear. One side of Harry's mouth quirked in amusement at her always ready concern.

"I'm fine," he assured her. "Just tired. I've been studying for," Harry lifted his watch to his face, "more than five hours straight."

"Are you serious?" Ron looked at his own watch, horrified. "What a complete waste of an evening."

"Ron." Hermione leveled the redhead with a disapproving look as her hand grazed the back of Harry's neck, just above his collar, in a comforting gesture. "There's no call to make fun of Harry for being responsible."

Too exhausted to weigh in with his own opinion, Harry shrugged and lowered his face back into the couch, letting his eyes drift shut. It felt so good to finally lie down, his entire body finally able to relax, that Harry didn't think he'd ever want to move again. Warmth from the fire spread a comforting heat across his back, erasing the chill that had crept over him after an even spent in the library, and by degrees the frenetic pace of his mind slowed, allowing spells and incantations to slip away. Gradually the noise of the common room became muted and indistinct as Harry hovered thankfully on the edge of sleep, no longer truly conscious of what was going on around him. The only things that registered with his decompressing mind were the softness of the cushions that seemed to absorb him, and the blissful relaxation of his muscles.

But just as he was about to tumble headlong into unconsciousness, a peel of laughter broke through his muddled senses, grabbed the back of his collar, and yanked him back to wakefulness.

Harry's eyes snapped open. He knew that laugh.

With a resigned sense of the inevitable, Harry pushed himself to a sitting position and looked over the back of the sofa. What he saw made his stomach clench.

Ginny and her new boyfriend, Hugh Martin, had just come through the common room door, arriving from someplace only they knew where. Probably a deserted tower or some other secluded make out spot, Harry thought grimly.

Hugh, a tall and athletic fifth year, had one well-muscled arm draped possessively across Ginny's shoulders. Her face was flushed with amusement and one of her hands pressed against his chest as she laughed and leaned into him with intimate familiarity. Hugh's own smile looked disgustingly happy and Harry wanted to throw something at him. Something heavy. It didn't matter that he'd broken things off with Ginny at the end of last year, and it didn't matter that he'd tried to prepare himself for her moving on. Harry hadn't moved on and the wounds were still raw.

It shouldn't be this way, Harry told himself for the hundredth time that day. With Voldemort on the loose and a full-scale war looming – not to mention NEWTs – his feelings for Ginny shouldn't be consuming him like this. It wasn't right, but so far his stubborn heart hadn't listened. Dispiritedly, he wondered what Hermione would say if she knew his recent bout of studiousness was only his most recent lame attempt to get Ginny off his mind.

"Harry, if you're so tired maybe you should go to bed." Hermione's voice broke through the haze of confusion and pain that circled Harry's mind.

"What?" he croaked, forcing himself to turn away from the scene before him. Harry cleared his throat and tried not to notice that Hermione looked anxious and that Ron's eyes were carefully averted.

"You should go to bed," Hermione repeated gently. "We have a difficult lesson in Potions tomorrow. You don't want to be tired."

Hermione smiled kindly and Harry knew she was trying to pretend she didn't have another reason for suggesting he head upstairs, and it rankled. Even though her concern was kindly meant, Harry didn't like his friends thinking he was too fragile to be around Ginny.

He would get over her. He had to.

"Yeah, you're right." There was that croak again. Embarrassed to be so obvious about his discomfort – and justifying Hermione and Ron's concern – Harry got clumsily to his feet. He reached for his bag, tossed it over his shoulder, then gave Ron and Hermione a little nod. Without another word he made a line for the boy's dormitory, wanting nothing more than to fling himself across his bed and sleep until all his pain magically disappeared.

_**The Next Day**_

"Today we will be brewing a potion that will test even our most talented students." Professor Slughorn paused just long enough to smile indulgently at Hermione, who straightened in her chair and tried not to look too pleased. "It is called the Siphon Draught and, as you all _should_ have read, this potion strips a witch or wizard of their ability to do magic. Temporarily, of course," Slughorn added when several students shifted uncomfortably.

Harry, who had not read the lesson before coming to class, bent his head toward Hermione. "And why would he teach us this?"

Hermione shrugged. "I certainly don't think I'd find an occasion to use it." She looked darkly at Malfoy, who didn't bother to hide his excitement. "Though I can't say the same for others."

Instructions began to appear on the board behind Professor Slughorn and Harry had to force himself to concentrate on them through drooping eyelids. Despite his best intentions, he had not slept at all last night. Most of it had been spent tossing and turning with him unable to get the thought of Ginny and Martin out of his mind. Whenever he closed his eyes all he could see was Ginny touching Martin's chest, it was like the image had been seared to the backs of his eyelids.

Harry mentally shook himself and forced the thought of Ginny out of his mind – for the time being anyway. He had a potion to brew and if Slughorn said it would be a challenge for Hermione, then it was going to be near impossible for him, especially if he let himself be distracted.

He laid out his ingredients and began separating them with movements that were jerky and lethargic, no matter how hard he concentrated. Twice he knocked his wand to the floor and once he sent his carton of newt eyes tumbling over, spilling its contents across the table. Hermione, who'd been watching him from the corner of her eye, eventually took pity on him and helped cut the rest of his ingredients when Slughorn's back was turned.

"Thanks, Hermione." Harry smiled gratefully and Hermione ducked her head in acknowledgement, though she seemed preoccupied.

Silence fell between them as each began adding ingredients to their cauldrons. But, once again, Harry found his mind drifting to Ginny, to Hugh Martin, and to wondering why he was still so affected by Ginny's presence. They were broken up. He had done it to protect her. A fight with Voldemort was brewing and the odds were he wouldn't live much longer anyway so he should be happy she'd found someone else. Wishing otherwise made him selfish, didn't it?

"You didn't sleep at all last night, did you Harry?"

Startled, Harry glanced toward Hermione. She was looking at him with an expression that bordered on alarmed and felt a twist of guilt in his stomach. So much for being able to wallow in his misery unnoticed.

"I got a few hours in, but Ron was snoring loud enough to shake the tower down."

Hermione leveled Harry with a look that told him exactly what she thought of that excuse.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked softly a moment later.

Harry looked at her from the corner of his eye, suddenly too embarrassed to maintain eye contact.

"Hermione -"

"I mean, I know how much you don't like talking about the things that bother you." Hermione spoke without looking at him, keeping her eyes fixed carefully on her potion. Harry wondered if she was avoiding his gaze on purpose, because she could sense his feelings, or if she were just trying to make it look like she was completely focused on her work for Slughorn. "But I'm your friend, Harry. And I'm here for you no matter what you need. I hope you know that."

Harry cleared his throat uncomfortably and stared down at the table, not sure what to say.

"I'll get over it, Hermione," he mumbled finally, after a long and uncomfortable silence. "It's just that being back in school, seeing her all the time..." Harry trailed off and shrugged.

"Harry." Hermione put her hand on his forearm, a silent request that he look at her. Harry glanced down to where she gripped his arm. Her fingers were warm against his skin, probably from being so close to the fire beneath her cauldron, and Harry felt the muscles of his arm flex involuntarily beneath her fingers.

When he looked up her eyes were painfully sympathetic and Harry was more than a little surprised that she was trying to discuss this in class. Normally any sort of conversation not directly related to the course work was strictly out of bounds as far as she was concerned, and Harry didn't know whether to feel grateful or alarmed by her sudden and undivided attention. It was obvious she wanted him to talk to her, to let her help him, but he'd never been big on confiding.

"I mean things besides Ginny, too," she said gently.

Harry nodded once, not having to think hard to know she meant Voldemort and all the baggage that came part and parcel with that hornet's nest of a situation.

"It's all right, Hermione." Harry gave her what he meant to be a reassuring smile. "I'm fine."

She didn't say anything, just regarded him skeptically with those dark eyes until Harry began to fidget uneasily. Then, with a shrug, she turned back to her potion, brow furrowed in thought.

"Your potions should be a dull green at this moment, and rather thin."

Slughorn's voice jerked Harry's attention away from Hermione and back to the task at hand. Apprehensive, he dropped his gaze to his potion, hoping for the best but definitely expecting the worst.

And the worst was what he saw.

Instead of a dull green, his potion was a putrid yellow and appeared to have a consistency similar to toothpaste. With a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, Harry stole a glance at Hermione's cauldron and saw a simmering green liquid. Exactly as Slughorn had described.

Harry dropped pressed a hand against his forehead and groaned softly. "Bloody hell," he muttered, borrowing Ron's favorite phrase.

"Oh, Harry." Hermione leaned across him to get a better look at his cauldron. "What did you do?"

"I don't know. Just help me undo it," Harry whispered. He looked toward the front of the class where, thankfully, Slughorn was bent over Malfoy's cauldron, his back to their table. Maybe they would be able to fix it before Slughorn noticed anything, he thought with a faint surge of hope.

Harry waited, fidgeting as Hermione stared down at his ingredients and began mouthing silently to herself. In a vain attempt to be helpful, Harry re-read the ingredients on the board to see if he could pinpoint where he'd gone wrong. But nothing on the board looked even vaguely familiar and Harry wondered with some panic if he'd actually read the directions at all. Likely not, he admitted to himself. Thoughts of Ginny were truly taking over his life, it seemed.

"Here, try adding this and then stir it counter-clockwise three times."

Harry grabbed a handful of pickled slugs from Hermione and tossed them into his potion. As they quickly dissolved into the bubbling stew a faint steam began to form and rise into the air. Harry did his best to ignore it but with each counter-clockwise stroke of his ladle the steam became thicker and blacker.

"Um. Hermione? I don't think that worked."

Hermione's eyes were fixed on his potion. "No," she murmured in quick agreement, "I don't think it did either." Her brow still knit, she tapped the fingers of one hand nervously against her lips.

"Add your eye of newt next. But one at a time, Harry!" She grabbed his wrist as he'd been about to throw all dozen of them in at once.

"Sorry."

Far from improving things, the potion sputtered and coughed with each eye added and then Harry's nose was assaulted by the thick stink of rotten eggs. Fearful he might gag, Harry put the back of his hand to his nose and coughed, his eyes tearing.

"I don't think there's any saving it." Harry poked the revolting sludge and watched Hermione cover her face with part of her robe.

"I'm sure there is, Harry. We just have to find out exactly where things went wrong."

Harry opened his mouth to tell Hermione she didn't sound very optimistic when a sudden, piercing whistle erupted from his cauldron. Harry whipped his head around in shock and beside him Hermione squeaked in surprise and took a startled step backward.

"Oh Merlin," he heard her moan.

"Potter. What's going on back there?" It had taken the better part of ten minutes but Slughorn had finally noticed there was something very wrong with Harry's potion.

"I don't know, Professor!" Harry had to shout to be heard over the racket his potion was making. It was now both whistling and bubbling with fervor, and getting louder by the second.

"Harry," Hermione grabbed his arm and tried yank him toward her, "I really think we need to get out of here."

There was real fear in Hermione's voice and that's when Harry noticed that most of the students in the room were already edging toward the safety of the storeroom. Slughorn himself was leading the retreat and Malfoy was smirking at Harry from over the professor's shoulder. Harry cast one more helpless look at his potion and decided Hermione was right.

"Yeah." Harry put a hand on the small of Hermione's back and gave her a gentle push just as he heard his cauldron begin to crack. Sure what was coming, he only just managed to shove Hermione beneath a table before the cauldron exploded in his face.

**To Be Continued...**


	2. Part II

**A/N: **Thanks again to all those who reviewed. Here's the (quick by my standards) update. It might be a little longer before the next one – I've got a lot on my plate over the next week and Part III is in desperate need of tweaking. Please enjoy.

**Coming Around Again – Part II**

"Harry! Harry, are you all right?"

A voice, female, registered ghost-like through the fog in Harry's mind. It was soft, but urgent, and Harry thought he heard an undercurrent of fear in the staccato repetition of his name. Dimly, he considered responding but quickly decided he couldn't be bothered to open his mouth. His head felt thick, like it was stuffed with wool, and all he wanted to do was sleep until all the fuzziness went away.

The voice said his name again, more insistent this time. Maybe if he ignored the voice it would just go away. It could come back later, if it wanted, but now was not a good time. A cauldron had just exploded in his face and he was entitled to a little rest, a little unconscious oblivion. If whoever it was thought he was going to open his eyes and get up and walk anywhere any time soon, then they had another think coming. Hogwarts was full of witches and wizards, it would hardly be any work at all to levitate him to the Hospital Wing.

Harry started to roll over, to turn his back on the voice, when a hand slapped at his face. And none too gently either.

Irritated, and instantly well awake, Harry's eyes snapped open and he grabbed at the hand to stop its pummeling.

The first thing Harry noticed when his eyes opened is that he couldn't actually see. Not surprisingly, sometime during all the commotion his glasses had fallen off, probably been blasted halfway across the classroom. He hoped they hadn't been stomped on or crushed by flying debris. By some cruel twist of fate _Oculus Reparo_ was not one of his better spells. Somehow he always managed to change the prescription of the lenses and needed Hermione to correct them. And at the moment it was debatable whether Hermione would be in the mood to help him considering he'd almost gotten her blown her to smithereens.

The next thing to register was that he felt surprising good considering he'd just been involved in a minor explosion. In fact, the expected lump on the back of his head to the contrary, he felt no pain at all. He ran a hand over his face, sure he was going to find some sort of horrendous burn or savage wound. But he felt nothing at all. He blinked in surprise.

"Harry?"

The voice, he was not surprised to discover, belonged to Hermione Granger.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Harry assured Hermione, whose face was now hovering just inches from his own, her hand on his shoulder. Wearily, Harry rubbed a hand across his forehead, unable to believe what he'd just done. Slughorn was going to kill him. "Just surprised my face hasn't burned off, that's all. You're okay, aren't you?"

There was a beat of silence. "Um. What?"

Harry opened his eyes and looked up at Hermione like she'd gone mental. Surely she hadn't forgotten his cauldron turning into a fireball? He opened his mouth to ask her just that when he noticed something else odd. Despite his blurred vision, he noticed there was something off about Hermione's appearance. He squinted up at her, raising his head off the ground to get a better look. Not only was she looking at him like he was the one who'd lost his mind but it was suddenly startlingly obvious that she was not quite...

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

But this was not Hermione, at least not Hermione as he knew her. It couldn't be. There was something wrong with her, she looked different, older somehow. Definitely not like the girl he'd just thrown under a desk.

That's when Harry noticed something else, something his scrambled brain had not comprehended until just this moment. He was not lying on the floor of the Potion's classroom, or even in the Hospital Wing. In fact, he didn't even seem to be inside.

Harry bolted upright so quickly that Hermione almost fell backward in her attempt to keep their heads from cracking together.

"What the...where are my glasses?" Harry twisted left and right, his hands groping blindly for his glasses while his eyes devoured his surroundings. He seemed to be on a porch of a modest-sized house, but it was not a porch he could remember ever being on before. Beyond that a sea of blurry green nothingness stretched out as far as he could see, no other buildings anywhere. And there were definitely no other people to be seen or heard from this foreign porch, the one he was sharing with a Hermione who did not look exactly like Hermione should.

True unease began to creep up Harry's spine. Where was he? Was he dreaming? Deranged? He needed his glasses; not being able to see was making him feel too vulnerable. If he could just find them he might be able to calm down and sort everything out.

"Harry, what's the matter?" Hermione was kneeling beside him now, brushing the hair from his forehead and peering into his eyes. "One second you were standing, talking to me, and the next you were sprawled on the porch."

"I need my glasses," Harry said blankly, "I can't see."

Without a word Hermione reached around him and he felt her fumble for something behind his back. Before Harry could turn around and look, Hermione was holding his glasses out to him, her brow puckered by concern. That was something familiar, at least.

Harry took the glasses and put them on hastily, his eyes fixing hard on Hermione's face. Sure enough, his first impression had been right. Hermione looked older, not decades older but definitely different. But how? And what the bloody hell was going on?

"I think I'm unconscious," Harry whispered.

Hermione frowned and scooted closer. "What?"

"I think I'm unconscious," Harry repeated. He tried to get to his feet but Hermione put a hand on his shoulder and held him firmly. She searched his eyes carefully.

"I think you need to stay seated."

"I'm fine, really." Harry disengaged Hermione's hand from his shoulder and stood up, trying to clear his thoughts. He'd been in Potions, his cauldron had exploded, and now he was here. Wherever here was. It was obviously someone's home, whose he still had no idea, but with his glasses on he was able to notice more of the details. The house was neither small nor large, but had a wraparound porch and pale blue shutters. It was secluded, as he'd first thought, and the fair sized lawn was surrounded by trees and a had long dirt driveway. Here and there a garden spotted the landscape.

Harry shook his head, very sure he'd never seen this place before, and he wondered how his subconscious had conjured it.

"Yes, this is definitely a dream. It has to be."

"Harry..." Hermione sounded as though she was going to ask him to sit down again so Harry forced himself to smile. Not unexpectedly, Hermione did not smile back.

"Why do you think this is a dream?" She spoke carefully, as though afraid of saying the wrong thing. Harry thought she was standing unnaturally still and there was a look in her eyes that he recognized. It made him very uneasy.

"Because...because two minutes ago I was in Potions brewing the Siphon Draught." Hermione's eyes widened and Harry felt vaguely ill. "It started to smoke and whistle, and then when we tried to get away it blew up in my face. Now I'm unconscious and this is a...dream of some sort. Isn't it?"

But Harry already knew the answer to that one. He knew by the way Hermione's lips thinned and the way she straightened her shoulders that she was readying herself to send some unexpected news crashing over his head. And the odds were high that he was not going to like whatever it was she had to say.

"Please tell me something strange isn't going on."

The determined expression on Hermione's face was not reassuring.

"Close your eyes."

Harry blinked. "What?"

"Close your eyes."

Harry met Hermione's eyes and waited for her to say something else. But the silence stretched out and it became obvious that the odd request was not something she felt inclined to explain. Which was not that much different from the Hermione he hung out with daily, really. Was it possible for something like that to be comforting?

Not wanting to argue, Harry shut his eyes without further hesitation and instantly Hermione began to mutter beneath her breath. It was impossible to make out her words but Harry didn't have to guess what she was doing. For almost a minute he listened to the swishing of her wand and felt the magic that crackled the air and pricked at his skin. It took all of Harry's self-discipline to keep his eyes closed as he shifted from foot to foot, his hands clenched at his sides. What in the world was going on?

"Okay, Harry." Hermione sounded a little breathless. "You can open them."

Harry's eyes popped open and he studied his surroundings anew, then frowned in confusion. After so much magic he'd expected to see some difference in anything, but nothing seemed to have changed. At least nothing he could see. In fact, the only thing that appeared to have moved was Hermione. And all she'd done is gone from standing directly in front of him to standing beside the front door.

"What's going on?"

"I'll tell you in a moment, but I really think you should come inside and have a seat first." She pulled open the screen door and waited for Harry to enter the house. But Harry didn't move. His gaze flicked through the front door, down the hallway within, and then back to Hermione.

Something was very wrong here. During the majority of his wayward adventures he'd had a fair understanding of how or why he'd arrived at a new and strange place. A Time Turner, a Pensieve, and a Portkey were the usual suspects when considering what magical object might have transported him to a place previously unknown. And if his current situation wasn't the result of some head trauma – and the potentially imaginary Hermione did not seem to think it was – then he had no explanation for how he'd gotten here. Wherever here was. Whatever here was. A potion run amok was supposed to cause third arms to sprout from one's head or turn one's legs into flippers, it wasn't supposed to transplant him to Merlin knew where.

The only thing remotely familiar about this situation was the woman standing in front of him, and even she was an unknown entity.

"Hermione, please. Where are we? I need some answers and I'm not moving until I get them."

"I'd really rather you come inside and sit down."

"Please." Harry was only a little ashamed of the pleading note in his voice.

Hermione stared at him a moment then heaved a rather heavy sigh. Apparently she was not looking forward to revealing this any more than he was to hear it. The screen door slipped from her fingers and slammed shut on its hinges.

"All right," she said, nodding. She took a step toward him and as she met his eyes Harry felt his body tense in anticipation. "The truth is, you've traveled into the future Harry. And this," Hermione gestured to the house and yard, "is my home."

**To Be Continued...**


	3. Part III

**A/N:** Okay – this is where it might get confusing for some (I apologize). In the last chapter we found out that Harry had traveled into the future. In this chapter we find out that 17 year old Harry displaced his future self and that his future self has taken 17 year old Harry's place. Hope that makes any kind of sense! From now on the chapters are going to be alternating points of view between the two Harrys, so we get both their perspectives.

**Coming Around Again – Part III (at Hogwarts)**

Harry Potter sat comfortably on a bed in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts. Pillows were propped up behind him, cushioning his back, and he leaned against them with his fingers laced behind his head. He'd been sitting in just this position for more than half an hour, trying to adjust his mind to an unbelievable truth that was staring him in the face.

He was back at Hogwarts. After ten years, he was back.

Intellectually he had known this was going to happen. Ten years ago he had been on the opposite end of this wild ride through time, and he had always known that this part of the journey was coming. But that didn't make the reality of the moment any less unbelievable. No matter how often he did it – and Harry sincerely hoped this was the last time – time travel was never going to feel commonplace.

Shaking off his silent musings, Harry turned toward Hermione, who was asleep in the chair beside him and looking like the very picture of exhaustion. She'd pillowed her head on her arms and was supporting herself on the table next to his bed. Luckily her face was turned toward Harry so he could see the way her mouth hung slightly agape as her gentle snores echoed through the otherwise empty room. Her clothes were rumpled and her hair looked bushier than normal, and Harry couldn't decide if it was an after-effect of the explosion or her resulting agitation. Or, most likely, a little bit of both.

Idly, Harry wondered if he should have woken her. He supposed it would be the nice thing to do, since he didn't imagine her current position was comfortable. But he enjoyed watching her sleep so much – and she did look exhausted – that he decided it was just as easy to let her rest.

Just then Hermione snuffled in her sleep and shifted slightly. Her weight went too far to one side and suddenly she was teetering precariously off one side of the chair. Harry jolted into action and lunged forward, ready to steady her, but Hermione jerked awake just before she sprawled across the floor. The wide-eyed surprise on her face was so comical that Harry couldn't stop the laugh that erupted from him as she squeaked and scrambled to find some sort of purchase.

"Harry!" she choked out when she'd caught herself. An embarrassed blush made her cheeks rosy. "You're awake."

"I am," he agreed, smiling widely because he couldn't _not _smile at her. Hermione would think he was laughing at her, of course, but really he was marveling at the fact he was seeing – speaking with – an eighteen year old Hermione. It had been one thing to see her asleep, it was quite another to see her awake and talking. She looked largely the same as she did at twenty-eight; the differences were almost too subtle to be noticed. But though eighteen, this Hermione was still more girl than woman. Her features possessed a youthful roundness, and a gentle kind of innocence clung to her. Such pure youth should have been impossible after all they'd been through by this age, and it reminded Harry just of how young they'd been during the final battle with Voldemort.

"How's the pain?" Hermione got to her feet and examined his burns. "You've been asleep for hours."

"I'm a bit sore." Harry raised a hand to touch the salve pasted across his burned forehead. "But I think I got off lucky."

Hermione nodded, managing to look concerned and exasperated at the same time. "It was horrifying. I was afraid to look at you at first, but all you had was a burn."

Harry nodded, well able to imagine Hermione frantically checking to see if he was all right. "How's the classroom?"

It was strange, speaking to Hermione about things that had happened ten years in his past but had been only hours ago for her. Harry wracked his brain, trying to remember what day it was and what had been going on at this point in his seventh year. He'd thought it would be easier to remember the minute details surrounding such an astounding event in his life but, as with so many things, moments he thought he'd always remember had faded away over time.

"Destroyed," Hermione said, her voice full of disapproval. "Well, not really," she admitted. "You'll need a new cauldron, of course, and our table will _have_ to be replaced. But everything else was repaired rather easily. Including you."

Harry smiled. Little did she know.

"Yeah." Harry gestured to his face. "Madam Pomfrey is excellent with burns."

"I've had plenty of practice on you, Mr. Potter." Madam Pomfrey appeared from around a corner, the stern expression on her face exactly as Harry remembered. He smiled at her fondly.

"I know. Sorry."

"Take this," she said handing him a jar of salve and ignoring his apology, "and put it on just before bed. By tomorrow morning your burns should be completely healed."

Harry took the salve but Hermione nipped it from his hand and shoved it into her robe pocket.

"Am I free to go, then?"

"Yes, you are. I don't want to see you in here until at least next term, Mr. Potter." Madam Pomfrey looked openly skeptical, even as she warned him, and Hermione gave her an apologetic smile.

Harry jumped from the bed and gave Madam Pomfrey a sincere thank you before speeding out the door with Hermione beside him. Now that he was actually here he was anxious to see everyone again, as they'd been at Hogwarts. Outside in the hall, jittery with anticipation, Harry started toward the Gryffindor dormitory.

"Harry, where are you going?" Hermione grabbed his arm and pulled him backward. "It's dinner, everyone will be in the Great Hall."

"Oh." Harry stumbled toward Hermione. She'd never been very gentle with him. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm a little turned around."

"That's to be expected, you have been unconscious after all." She gave his arm another tug. "Now come on, before Ron eats everything."

That was not an idle threat so Harry nodded and trailed behind Hermione, his eyes once again absorbing his surroundings. Though the evidence was all around him, he still couldn't quite believe he was back in time. And not like he'd been in third year, when he and Hermione had gone back only several hours. This was ten years and there was no other self running around the castle. He was living a part of his life he'd never experienced, a part that his friends had already lived through. Despite being prepared, he could hardly comprehend it.

The two of them entered the Great Hall to an explosion of noise. Harry was momentarily taken aback by the volume and raucousness of some of the voices, but Hermione didn't seem to notice as she moved straight toward the Gryffindor table where Ron was waiting for them. Two steps into the Great Hall, Harry's feet shuffled to a halt. The scene before him felt unreal. The Hospital Wing with Madam Pomfrey and Hermione had been like a flick to the nose compared to the sledgehammer that was seeing the entire student body as it had been in his seventh year, all gathered for a normal evening meal.

Harry shook his head in wonder.

Hermione, who had continued walking, stopped and looked over her shoulder when she noticed Harry wasn't beside her. Her lips turned down and she marched back toward him, and Harry was sure she would try to drag him bodily to the table if he didn't hurry up. Which was good because it was probably the only way he was every going to be able to move again. But instead she stopped an arm's length and only searched his face.

"Harry, are you sure you're all right?"

Her concern touched him, he hadn't appreciated it enough during their days at Hogwarts. He smiled reassuringly. "I'm fine."

Hermione stared into his face a moment longer, clearly trying to gauge his honesty, then turned back toward the table. Harry followed her quickly, not wanting to make her worry, and slipped into an open seat beside Ron.

"Only a month into school and you've already had an accident." Ron laughed and slapped Harry on the back. "That didn't take long, did it?"

Harry smiled broadly at the seventeen year old Ron. Like Hermione, he wasn't very different from his older self. His hair had darkened a bit with age, and there was definitely less of it, but all in all he was much the same.

"I suppose not," Harry replied, his eyes leaving Ron's face to sweep over the faces at their table. "Some things don't change."

Ron snorted and turned his attention back to his full plate while Harry and Hermione began to fill plates of their own.

Dinner passed uneventfully. Harry spent most of his time looking at the people around him and comparing them to their future selves. So many students were nothing at all like they'd been at Hogwarts, while others were exactly the same. It gave Harry an odd feeling of detachment, this knowledge of the future. For a brief moment he thought of all the ways he could change what was to come and was reminded of how, fifteen years ago, he and Hermione had saved two lives and in the doing altered the future in unknowable ways. This time around all he had to do was leave well enough alone. It was a relief in some ways, and terrifying in others.

"Hogsmeade tomorrow," Ron burst out suddenly. Harry swung around to face him and was surprised to notice his ears were brick red. "I suppose you'll make us practice Quidditch instead." He toyed with his potatoes.

"No." Harry's denial was immediate. The idea of running a Quidditch practice made him uneasy. He hadn't played properly for years and trying to prep the Gryffindor team for a game was not something he wanted to tackle. He would only be back a couple days and coaching was high on the list of things he was rather hoping to avoid.

Ron's shoulders straightened considerably. "Right. Well, that's good." He cast a furtive look across the table toward Hermione, who kept her gaze on her plate. Harry noticed the look but thought nothing of it.

"There's a trip to Hogsmeade this weekend?" Neville, who was next to Hermione, perked up. "I'd forgotten."

"No surprise there, Neville." Ron muttered before shoveling a forkful of potato into his mouth.

"Ron." Hermione gave him a warning glance.

His eyes rounded. "What?"

Hermione's only response was to sigh and shake her head.

Harry was reaching for a second helping of treacle tart when a hand tapped his shoulder. Curious, he turned at the waist and looked up into the wide, concerned brown eyes of Ginny Weasley. She stood directly behind him, her hands clasped in front of her, and an uncertain smile on her face. It was an odd pose for the normally confident Ginny, and Harry was reminded sharply of the girl he'd known in third year, not the one that tore through his life like a whirlwind in sixth.

"Hi." Harry wiped at his mouth and smiled politely.

"I heard about Potions. Are you okay?" Her gaze drifted over his face and she grimaced in sympathy at the sight of his angry red skin. "It looks painful."

"It's not that bad, really. Madam Pomfrey is a miracle worker."

"Oh. Well, that's good." Ginny hesitated for a moment, as if she wanted to say more. Harry waited, not wanting to prolong the awkward conversation for longer than was necessary, and eventually Ginny smiled thinly and moved around him toward Hugh Martin, who was eyeing Harry suspiciously. As if he'd nearly blown off his face on purpose, just to get Ginny to talk to him again. Harry decided it was best not to watch the younger girl walk away; instead he turned back to the table in time to see Ron and Neville exchanging significant looks and Hermione watching him from beneath lowered lashes. Immediately they busied themselves by stuffing food into their mouths.

Harry didn't have to guess at what they were thinking. On this date ten years ago he would have felt like he was floating on air to have Ginny concerned for him. Or, more likely, been resentful to have her approach him and then leave him to head directly to her new boyfriend. Thankfully he was ten years wiser and didn't have to worry about either of those reactions. For him, all of this was water that had gone under the bridge a long time ago.

"So, Hogsmeade." Harry's voice was unnaturally cheerful. Despite his indifference to this whole situation, he didn't enjoy being watched like he was some bomb about to go off. "Are we all going together then?"

Hermione shot Ron a look. It was lightning fast and Harry wouldn't have noticed it if he hadn't been staring right at her. Curious about what the two might be keeping from him, Harry turned to Ron and saw the redhead playing with his food, his mouth moving in awkward silence.

That's when it dawned on him.

The beginning of seventh year was when Ron and Hermione had been considering the possibility of maybe becoming a couple. He hadn't paid much attention to it at the time, having been caught up in his own drama, but he had been vaguely aware of a mutual interest between them. It wasn't until years later that he'd learned the whole of what their fledgling relationship had entailed. Immediately Harry's curiosity turned sour.

"Ron?" he prodded, trying, but probably failing, to keep a slight edge from his voice.

Ron fidgeted in his chair, uncomfortable under Harry's scrutiny. Harry wondered if he was waiting for Hermione to chime in with some viable reason for whatever they'd obviously planned to do together. But Hermione remained silent and, unable to come up with an excuse to exclude him outright, Ron shrugged. "Erm...yeah, of course. Don't be daft."

"Excellent." Harry picked up his fork and resumed eating.

**To Be Continued...**


End file.
